


Dragonfly

by Rising_Phoenix



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentioned Mischa Lecter, Post-Episode: s03e13 The Wrath of the Lamb, mentions of cannibalism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:55:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23771920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rising_Phoenix/pseuds/Rising_Phoenix
Summary: Will finds Hannibal having a nightmare and learns more details about his sister's fate.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 12
Kudos: 116





	Dragonfly

**Author's Note:**

  * For [erodingthebluff](https://archiveofourown.org/users/erodingthebluff/gifts).



> This is for [erodingthebluff](https://archiveofourown.org/users/erodingthebluff/profile) who gave me this wonderful prompt for a little giveaway I held on Twitter! Thank you so much, dear, for this amazing idea. I hope you will like this! 💚

It was well-trained movements, imbedded in his muscle memory with which he pulled in the sails and tucked ropes and shackles to prepare the boat for the upcoming night, for which they had dropped the anchor of the Anax almost two hours ago.

He knew exactly where to pull when, with which force, how strong to pull the knots so they would not have problems loosening them as soon as they would continue their journey. Trying again the safety of the buckles with which the sails were secured, he moved to the railing and looked for a moment over the slowly surrendering light of a sunny and hot day that would in the next hours fade into a fresh and chill night. By now, he was used to this change that the life on the sea brought with it.

There were a few other boats in the secure distance, having taken into account the 360-degree swing room their boat would need in case the wind decided to change direction. There were flashing lights on one of the other boats and he smiled at the thought that there were young people having a party, he only hoped they were secure and knew what staying the night onboard would require. Accidents like falling overboard, or if the boat was not secured the right way drifting off, crashing their vessel into the neighboring boat, or beaching the boat, happened too often and often resulted in fatalities. No, nobody needed trouble like that.

He went to turn on the red and green sidelights and the masthead light, that would ensure that nobody could oversee them in case the night would be especially dark and clear, and the air smelled like exactly that.

After having done his duties for the night, he remained leaned against the side of the wooden wall, both hands deep in the pockets of his dark blue jacket, nose in the chill yet calm wind that smelled of sea and salt.

It had been weeks on the boat.

Weeks that almost seemed like a lifetime now.

Everything had changed in this time, everything he had believed in and everything he had taken for granted and had been certain he would never move away from. On some days he felt like a changed man, like someone he did not know and did not recognize himself in, and then, this was unmistakably him, maybe his true self that he had always been too scared to show the world, someone he had told himself he should not be, could not allow himself to evolve into.

Brushing his hands through his hair, he decided to go below deck and see what his travel companion was up to. Since the very beginning, since they met for the first time so many years ago, he had learned to read the signs the other was giving him, and had seen early very clearly that he was annoying him today with his mere presence. There was something bothering him, keeping his brilliant mind busy in not a good way, and occupied him to a limit where the company was no longer wanted.

He though was surprised to find only the main room downstairs in the dim light that the lamp above the small counter gave at which they took most of their meals together.

He frowned.

There was no hint that another person was on board the boat, and for a moment he thought himself in another of those seemingly too real dreams that he sometimes found himself in, reality and dream blurring until he sometimes was not sure if he was truly awake. It reminded him of the time years ago, when the encephalitis had clouded his mind and almost driven him to insanity, but this time, he knew, this was only a trick his own still lingering confusion played on him.

Not a sound could be heard, nothing that indicated that there was someone else, but the door to the cabin was closed, and now he remembered that the other had complained about a rising migraine, something that he only admitted to after he had insisted that he told him what was the problem about those rubbed temples and frowned forehead, the silent sighs and hisses, the pale skin.

When he heard no sound after he had waited a few minutes, he opened the door to the adjoining room only a small gap and listened into the darkness behind it. There was a body in the bed, but it did not move. Maybe he had taken some pills and had decided to force the migraine away before it went unbearable. He smiled at the obviously sleeping form of the other man, there in the darkness, huddled underneath soft blankets, so peaceful and calm, no sign of the storms they had gone through together. Closing the door without making a sound he turned and shook his head a little to himself and went to sit at the counter, scrolling through the messages on his phone, finding one from Chiyoh and another from the never disappointing Freddie Lounds who had been convinced in a very not-subtle way to put down false bread crumbs to distract FBI and every private investigator that Alana and Margot hired to find out the true fate of Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham who mysteriously disappeared after their kill of the Red Dragon.

Hannibal had prepared everything, not forgetting a single detail of the things that happened that day. He though had not taken into account how unpredictable Dolarhyde really was and that he was not much more than a volatile, feral animal. There had been no doubt that they would be able to overpower him once Will understood and started to work with Hannibal, fighting at his side for both their lives. It had been a bloody fight, a fight that was so close to both their deaths of blood loss and wounds that Dolarhyde had inflicted on both of them. Will had been lucky with only deep lacerations, even the wound that Dolarhyde put into his face when he rammed his blade into his cheek had not done any damage that had been permanent. Sure, he would always wear the scars the Red Dragon left on him, but then he also wore the scars the Chesapeake Ripper left on him, and he did never complain about those either. They were what ultimately made him. More serious was the shot that had hit Hannibal into his stomach. It had not hit any vital organs, and still, he had lost a lot of blood and that they both suffered fractured bones after Will had flipped them over the edge of the eroding bluff. Chiyoh had collected them from the water from a waiting boat and brought them to the sailing yacht that Hannibal had her buy under a false name and that now was both men’s home.

They had taken care of their wounds, both not talking more than necessary, both uncertain what this relationship was now, and with Will’s knowledge that Hannibal was and had been in love with him, he did not quite know what to do about the thoughts that became more and more present in his head the longer he stayed in such close proximity of the dangerous man. Hannibal had stitched him up, had explained to him what to do to take care of the wounds he had suffered himself, and after a few days of rest, under the influence of pain medication and glooming thoughts and the uncertainty of what the future would bring, they had made a short trip to visit Bedelia.

The meal they shared in her house, the eye contact they had made over the table, made Will finally understand and realize that he felt something for Hannibal that he had for a long time not been ready to feel. Respect. Admiration. Maybe love. Yet, he was not ready to admit to all that. Bedelia, their first victim as the murder husbands which Hannibal found extremely funny once Will told him about that phrase that Freddie had used for them, rolled her eyes on them and it looked like no amount of wine had prepared her for the eye-fucking that Hannibal and Will had given each other. They had left Bedelia sans one leg and with the warning to return should she furthermore not show the required respect, and that night, Hannibal had for the first time made love to Will. Both with tears in their eyes, both overwhelmed by emotions they were unprepared for. No matter how long Hannibal had pined for Will, no matter how much Will had fought his feelings for his former psychiatrist, their understanding was that of two men who had been destined for each other from the first moment they had met.

Still, weeks later, they had not put what they felt for each other into words, and Will was not sure he would be ever able to do so. Hannibal, as usual, was speaking in metaphors, and Will knew what he was implying, still, and just maybe, he needed Hannibal to make the first step.

He cursed under his breath and for a moment he did not quite know what to do with himself, and then decided to prepare a meal in the other’s stead and went to the fridge, taking out the fish he had caught in the morning and that he had already gutted earlier. Instead of the elaborate meal that the other most probably had planned for them, he would make a simple fish stew the way his grandmother had made in his childhood, and he knew that though it was definitely not a four-star-meal, his companion would appreciate the effort and the flavor of the spices he would use.

Humming a soft melody while he went to work, he poured himself a glass of white wine from the small cabinet that kept the wine in the perfect temperature. Chopping vegetables while starting to boil the broth, adding all the ingredients he remembered, thinking hard to not forget anything, adding wine and spices, pleased with how the fragrances and flavors assembled like notes would assemble into a prolific aria. More of a shanty in his case, but he did not care. All he cared about was that they would have a nice dinner later on and that he could provide something for the life they now were living together.

He emptied his glass and considered to get a second fill, but decided against and instead put a lid on the steaming pot with the stew and got closer to the door separating him from the other person on board. He leaned against the blade and listened for a moment, and heard nothing. With a sigh, he returned to the counter to cut some of the fresh bread that had been baked in the morning, and set the table so they could have their meal as soon as it was ready.

And then he waited.

For a minute.

For five minutes.

For fifteen minutes.

And then, with a sigh, he got up and went to the door, listened before he opened it if he heard any sound from the other room and then went inside.

Only dim light came from the windows, the night having taken over already, and just when he wanted to say something, maybe gently waking Hannibal up, he saw the other man thrashing in the bed, moaning and whispering things in a language that Will did not understand, probably his native tongue of Lithuanian. Hannibal’s hands were cramped into the sheets and the light from the other room gave Will a good idea that he was bathed in sweat, the face a mask of agony.

“Hannibal,” Will whispered, not daring to take another step, unsure how Hannibal would react if he woke him from the night terror that tortured him, and still, seeing the always so controlled man like this was heartbreaking.

Tears were covering Hannibal’s face, the forehead knit together in a deep frown, lips a snarl. Sobs and moans, whispers and whimpers came together in a tantalizing serenade of pain.

Will got ready to approach him, one hand reaching out already to touch him the moment he got close enough, but then he stopped dead in his tracks.

“MISCHA!”

Hannibal sat up, panting and the eyes suddenly wide open. Sweat was dripping from his forehead, his lips trembling and the shoulders shaking under tears, his breath hitching and still whimpers coming from his throat. Nothing about this man in front of Will resembled anymore the cruel and calculated killer that had made himself a name, this was someone who was breaking apart, who was suffering.

“How long have you been standing there, Will?” He asked without looking up.

“Not long,” Will answered and made a step closer to Hannibal. “I wanted to see if you were up for dinner.”

Hannibal looked up now but instead of answering he only nodded once.

“I will be ready to join you in a moment,” he said, his voice still hoarse from his screams.

Will did not turn and leave like Hannibal had expected. Instead he was standing there, a little helpless, before he sat down at the edge of the bed they had started to share a week ago. He reached and put a hand on Hannibal’s arm.

“Talk to me,” he said silently.

Hannibal did not say a word for what felt like an eternity.

“There is nothing to say,” Hannibal said and turned to get up from the bed, but Will stopped him.

“Hannibal,” he continued. “This is not the first time you have a nightmare since our time together.”

“It is not the first nightmare I have since…,” he started, but stopped.

“Since?”

“Are you trying to analyze me?” Hannibal asked, still avoiding to look at Will.

Will could not help but chuckled, remembering those words had come from his own mouth years ago.

“Would I not like you when you’re analyzed?”

The hint of a smile appeared for a moment on Hannibal’s lips, but seized immediately. Still, his head was lowered and his hands balled into fists, gripping the blanket.

“Don’t you trust me?” Will asked, his hand gliding down Hannibal’s arm and finally taking his hand into his, trying to reassure him.

“I think you are well aware of the answer to that question, Will,” Hannibal said. “If I did not trust you, we both would not be here today.”

“Then talk to me, for once, talk to me,” Will gave back.

Hannibal stared at their hands, then shook his head.

“You screamed her name,” Will tried to help. “Mischa.”

Now, Hannibal looked up. There was surprise in his eyes that looked dark in the dim light, searching for the answer to an unasked question on Will’s face.

“How do you know that name?” Hannibal asked.

Will pressed his lips together for a moment.

“When I was in Lithuania, searching for you, Chiyoh told me…she told me about your sister, Hannibal,” he replied hesitantly, knowing that this was something more than private, something that he was not allowed to know about.

“She…told you,” Hannibal stated flatly. “She had…”

“No right. I know,” Will said. “After I ran across your prisoner, she had not much of a choice but to explain why you keep a feral man locked in a cage, more animal than human.”

Hannibal’s curved lips turned into a thin line.

“That is not human,” he said. “That…abomination does not have the right to claim himself a human being.”

Will took a breath and held it for a moment before letting it out, holding Hannibal’s hand tight in his grip.

“Chiyoh told me about Mischa, most of what she said I did not believe. I thought she made excuses to explain that what happened to you made you.”

“Nothing happened to me. _I_ happened.”

The younger man looked again at Hannibal.

“If only half of that what Chiyoh told me is true, then that is a lie,” he said. “I want to hear it, Hannibal. I want to hear what happened in your own words, and I think you need to tell it to someone. If you trust me, if you truly trust me. Tell me.”

Hannibal raised his head and looked into Will’s eyes, saw care and softness, but also heartbreak and strength in them. This was the man he had made. This is the man that he had formed after his own design.

“Mischa,” he started and his voice almost broke when he said her name consciously, maybe for the first time after so many years. “She was my sister, much younger than I was and she was my charge. I was a boy myself, but after my parents died, it was only her and me. She was…she was my life. I would have given anything for her.” He swallowed hoping to be able to force the tears back down. “She…she was precious, and I could already tell she would grow up into a wonderful, breathtaking woman one day. Our uncle Robert told us we could live with him and his wife in Paris, and we were scheduled to meet them in the Spring after they would have returned from a long journey. Mischa was so excited, about meeting uncle and aunt, about the journey, about our new life far away from the castle and the cold.” He closed his eyes. “The winter was harsh and many people in the surrounding villages had not much to eat. There were straying gangs we heard about but I did not pay much attention to it. He went to live in the hunting lodge, it was easier to take care of, but then…there were…there were men that found us.”

Hannibal stopped, and Will could see in his face, in the way his jaw moved and the way his lips trembled, that he was fighting with the memories, not wanting them in his head and still forcing them to the surface.

“They were drunk and they were brutal. They beat me and tried to force me to tell them were the Lecter fortune was,” he huffed a laugh. “My father left nothing of worth behind but the estate, and I told them that.” Hannibal closed his eyes. “They laughed. They said they cannot eat the estate. And then one of them…he said…he said that it is not the whole truth. That the count, my father, left behind something else. Something they could eat.”

Will stopped breathing, his hand squeezing hard into the flesh of Hannibal’s hand.

“They wanted me to choose. Wanted to force me to draw straws,” he whispered. “I refused. I held Mischa in my arms, she was scared and shaking, not understanding what they were talking about. And then they beat me again and said my refusal was all the choice I had to make. One of them held me back when the leader, he talked to Mischa and asked her if she wanted to see something nice, and she did not understand. She went with him, she took his hand and he took her outside.”

Tears were flowing freely. Hannibal felt like the boy he had been, who had lost everything that day in the Lithuanian forest, when they took the only thing important to him from him.

He cleared his throat and tried for composure, forcing the stern mask of one Hannibal Lecter back onto his face.

His maroon eyes found Will’s, cold and still the reminder of tears in them showed Will how broken this man really was.

“They made me eat her,” Hannibal said. “They forced the broth they cooked from her body down my throat. They made me eat my own flesh.”

Will nodded slowly.

“Don’t do that,” Will then said, making Hannibal turn in the way that indicated that he did not get the implication in Will’s words. “Don’t blame yourself for what happened. You were a child yourself.”

Hannibal returned the nod.

“I am aware,” Hannibal said. “Yet, the memory of that night is a haunting one. It is nothing that my mind will ever be able to fully grasp. Not the therapists my uncle hired to treat me were able to do that, not the rev…”

He hesitated.

“The revenge,” Will completed his words.

“I almost forgot that Chiyoh informed you about what I did,” Hannibal said.

“She did not. She told me about parts of what those men did, not that you took them out. But you did, didn’t you? Is that how Il Mostro came to live? The crimes you committed, they started with them, didn’t they?”

Again, Hannibal nodded.

“It started with them, but it did not end with them. Animals that hide themselves in the well-crafted costumes of mankind, they do not deserve to perambulate the world,” he said.

Will raised Hannibal’s hand, that hand that had been bathed in the blood of countless victims, of Il Mostro, of the Chesapeake Ripper, of Hannibal the Cannibal, of Hannibal Lecter, of his murder husband, and kissed it gently, eyes deep in Hannibal’s who seemed to relax under the intimate touch.

“I don’t regret having him killed,” Will then said and got ready to get up, but Hannibal’s hand in his suddenly gripped him more firm.

“I don’t understand,” Hannibal said, a frown between his eyes.

Will turned to him and blinked.

“Did Chiyoh never tell you?” He asked surprised.

“Did Chiyoh never tell me what, Will.”

Will sat back down, sighing.

“I…freed him, your prisoner. I let him go.”

Hannibal grew tense. The thought of the man who was responsible for his pain and his broken heart was unbearable, as was the thought that Will had done so.

“You…you cannot have done that,” he said, fighting that thought, shaking his head.

“Hannibal,” Will said, a hand touching the other’s cheek. “He is dead. I freed him because I wanted to see what would happen, I was curious if Chiyoh would be able to kill him once she had no other choice, and she did not disappoint.” He could not help a chuckle. “I dressed him into a murder tableau.”

Now, Hannibal was intrigued, there was a short spark in his eyes.

“What did you do?”

“I made him into a dragonfly,” Will said. “It was beautiful Hannibal. His wings made of twigs, decorated with broken glass and when the moonlight shone on him, it was glorious.”

Hannibal smiled softly at the pride that swung in Will’s voice.

“A dragonfly,” Hannibal said. “Do you know, Will, what the spiritual meaning of a dragonfly is?”

Will smiled.

“I think I do, but please tell me.”

“They symbolize change, transformation. A change that you could refer to has its source in mental and emotional maturity and the understanding of a deeper meaning of one’s life.”

Will nodded, still knowingly smiling.

“It is like this was your final change towards what you were to become, my cunning boy.”

A chuckle escaped Will.

“I’m hardly a boy.”

“You will always be my boy, Will. My beautiful, cunning boy.”

It was Hannibal’s turn to raise Will’s hand to his lips and kiss it.

“You know what the Greek name of the dragonfly is?”

“I have to admit, I don’t,” Will answered.

“Anax.”

Will raised his expressive brows.

“How…how did you know?”

“I did not,” Hannibal replied. “I named this boat Anax because of the metamorphosis we both went through to come to this point. This is all I ever wanted for the both of us.”

Will leaned closer to Hannibal and placed the hint of a kiss to the older man’s lips.

“I love you,” he said, a little surprised that after all he was the first to say those words.

Hannibal smiled. Genuinely smiled, his heart beating loudly.

“As I love you, my dear Will.”

They leaned their foreheads against each other.

“I made dinner,” Will then said, and Hannibal looked up when he raised to stand up. “Fish stew, my grandmother’s recipe. So if you say anything against it, you insult my family.”

“And I would never do that.”

Will grinned over his shoulder when he had reached the door, looking back at the man who had become the center of his life.


End file.
